


Gag With It

by imunbreakabledude



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Bottom Eve Polastri, Episode Related, F/F, Post-Episode S03e03 - Meetings Have Biscuits, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strap-Ons, Top Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, but WOW the give and take
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/pseuds/imunbreakabledude
Summary: “What does it taste like?”Eve can’t answer. Obviously. But she knows what she would say, and knows Villanelle knows it too. They’re past the need for spoken words.Power. She tastes power.---or, an alternate ending of the bus scene from 3x03
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 34
Kudos: 292





	Gag With It

**Author's Note:**

> bleep bloop here's my contribution to the post-episode frenzy
> 
> thanks to [Spence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/James_Spencer/pseuds/James_Spencer) and Ky for beta reading
> 
> Spoilers for Killing Eve 3x03 ahead, if that wasn't already abundantly clear!

There was a bus, wasn’t there?

Eve is pretty sure, at some point, that this started on a bus.

She’d thought it a dream at first. A variation on a theme; a recurring motif for the past six months. Eve going about her daily life. Villanelle appears. Eve confronts her, releases the explosive buildup of anger and wanting that has been buried within her since Rome, stitched up inside her shoulder and scarred over, but not healed.

Always a different ending to those dreams. Sometimes a slap. Sometimes a punch. Sometimes a kiss. Sometimes Eve yelled. Sometimes Villanelle yelled back. Sometimes they’d whisper tender words to each other. Sometimes Eve only laughed. Sometimes Eve got on her knees and begged forgiveness. Sometimes Eve pretended not to see Villanelle at all.

This dream is different. This dream feels real. This dream stays linear, though so much is going on. Charge. Punch. Submit. Pinned down. Kiss. Headbutt? Jump out of a moving bus. Together. Intertwined.

Is it a dream after all? It’s wild, freewheeling, nonsensical – why had Villanelle appeared so suddenly on the bus?

No. Eve is awake. She knows she is awake, because of the smell.

_What do I smell of, Eve?_

When Eve inhaled, she knew she was more awake than she’d ever been.

Acrid. Pungent. Smoky. 

_Power._

You don’t smell anything in dreams.

When Eve kissed Villanelle, she knew it was real.

The bus is gone now. Somehow, they’ve been transported to Eve’s apartment. Unclear when or how it happened, because Eve’s field of awareness has narrowed to the body in front of her, attached to her, orbiting around her.

Eve only realizes as they fall through the doorway that Villanelle had led them here with an assured familiarity. Villanelle has been in her apartment already: this should be a startling revelation, but it’s buried beneath a very long list of other matters occupying Eve’s brain at the moment. The feeling of Villanelle’s fleshy lower lip between her teeth. The brush of the stray strands of hair come loose from Villanelle’s bun against her temple. The smell, which seems to grow thicker by the moment.

They’re stuck like magnets. Eve’s shoulder aches from holding onto Villanelle so tightly, or maybe it’s only the pain from all of her frustration exploding outward from where it had been sealed. Eve is sure, if she had a mirror, or could crane around and look at the site of the wound, she’d find it reopened, a crater, hollowed out, allowing all of her blood to pour free again, like a ritual sacrifice.

Then there’s air between them. Villanelle pulls back. Why? She’s panting for breath. She licks her lips, subconsciously swiping in the taste of Eve. Swallows. It looks like there are words pent up behind her lips, but they do not escape.

Villanelle squeezes Eve’s shoulders, then lets go. She turns to the bed. Already? She pulls back the covers, determined, single-mindedly searching for something. A pink bear appears, flung across the room vaguely in the direction of the bin as Villanelle tears the rest of the bed apart, preparing it. In another life, Eve might have questioned it. 

Villanelle relaxes. Well, “relaxes” may be the wrong word. She becomes still, as she perches on the edge of the bed, facing Eve, legs spread wide, but there’s still something manic about her. She’s vibrating at some ultrasonic frequency that can’t be seen, but can be felt. Eve feels it in every cell of her body. She’s living on the same frequency, same wavelength. For the first time in eight months since they met, Eve and Villanelle are in perfect harmonic synchronicity. 

A hand perches on each of her spread knees. “Tell me, Eve,” she rasps, her voice low and hoarse. “When you imagined it. Was it anything like this?”

“Yes,” Eve says. She goes to sit on the floor, right in front of Villanelle. “No.” She situates herself, criss-cross applesauce. “Everything in between.”

For the first time since their lips met, Villanelle smiles. 

Eve coughs. Once. Twice. Something is caught in her throat. Perhaps the last shred of her conscience, trying desperately to escape.

Villanelle chuckles. She seems very proud of herself, for all she’s done, which some part of Eve has the wherewithal to criticize, even at this dire moment: _What’s she got to be proud of? All she did was get on a bus._

Eve’s done her share of heavy lifting for the day, and she’s feeling short of breath.

And Villanelle is proud. Villanelle is smug. She stands, letting the large folds of her oversized suit sag once more. 

She drops her pants in a heap, and Eve understands why Villanelle selected such a loose ensemble.

Seated on the floor, Eve is only inches away from a majestic black dildo jutting out from Villanelle’s hips.

She’s speechless.

Eve lifts herself up onto her knees. She leans forward and takes Villanelle’s strap into her mouth. Only a little at first. Her lips that moments ago were on Villanelle’s, now greet the smooth head of her cock.

Pressure from behind. Villanelle’s hand digging into Eve’s hair. A sweep of Eve’s hair as it falls against her neck. Of course. _Wear it down,_ but this time, not a suggestion; rather, a demand that Villanelle has skipped speaking and has taken into her own hands.

Then, Villanelle’s fingers taking root in Eve’s curls, pushing her head forward. Heavy panting. “Choke on it, Eve.”

Another few inches into Eve’s mouth. She feels the instinct to gag. She suppresses it.

Power. She smells power.

Eve reaches up to find purchase on Villanelle’s hips, lets her fingers dig into Villanelle’s ass as she finds power of her own. 

“What does it taste like?”

Eve can’t answer. Obviously. But she knows what she would say, and knows Villanelle knows it too. They’re past the need for spoken words.

Power. She tastes power.

Eve draws her tongue in circles around the shaft in her mouth, feeling every inch of it, how it takes up the space inside her. She notices one of Villanelle’s hands has dipped down between her thighs to touch herself. Fair enough. Eve grabs Villanelle’s other hand, interlaces her fingers for a moment. Squeezes. Then, she isolates Villanelle’s index finger, and guides it carefully inside of her mouth alongside the dildo.

It’s a lot. But it’s worth it. The sensation is unmatched. Villanelle can feel every move Eve makes with her mouth, and Eve notes Villanelle’s moans of pleasure with satisfaction.

Villanelle shivers and withdraws her finger. Eve digs into Villanelle’s flesh and pulls her closer, takes even more of her inside than she thought she could. It’s like choking. Yet it isn’t frightening; it’s freeing. Before she thought Villanelle might kill her with a slice, or a shot. Perhaps a dash of poison. If someone had asked Eve, before, which way she’d prefer to go, she would’ve shrugged. She should have known this was the best way, to suffocate on the pure volume of Villanelle. To take in so much of her that her body can not process anything else, not even the oxygen needed to live.

Villanelle’s whole body shakes. Eve knows in that moment that she’s won. She lets up, slides Villanelle’s strap from her mouth, leaving it slick with saliva. She breathes again, but it is not air that enters her lungs. Only Villanelle’s power. Again, Eve’s gag reflex activates, but she suppresses it.

Villanelle throws her head back, lets out a wild laugh like a hyena. Eve stares up at her. She feels herself drawn to her feet, like she’s a marionette and some unseen puppeteer is pulling at her strings. She stands. She grabs Villanelle by the lapels for the second time that day, then pulls the oversized jacket off of her. 

Hands on Eve as well. Villanelle’s long, daring fingers tear at Eve’s buttons. Pull her shirt off. Her pants next – a traffic jam occurs, as Eve never even took off her shoes, but she furiously kicks and sends them flying across the room along with the tangled pair of trousers shortly after. Undergarments follow. Villanelle lies back on the bed – she cleared it for a reason, after all – and helps Eve climb on top of her. 

Firm hands grasp Eve’s hips as she lowers herself on top of Villanelle. She’s wet, as she has been since the bus, and she takes the firmness of Villanelle’s cock inside of her in a new way. It slips in slowly but smoothly.

Eve grinds her hips back and forth, as Villanelle complements the movements beneath her. With each rotation, she feels Villanelle hit a point inside her. Deep inside. Where no one else goes. Where Eve herself does not go. That spot has been hidden inside Eve for her whole life; she was not even aware of its existence for so many decades, until Villanelle came along and attacked it.

Villanelle has always existed to fill this hollow inside of Eve. Eve has always existed to take Villanelle in. In retrospect, it’s hilariously obvious. Eve wonders how she ever could’ve been ignorant of it. Was there really any life before she met that blonde nurse in a hospital bathroom? Or was everything before that the dream, before she woke up for the first time?

Eve rocks back and forth, back and forth. Feeling the pulse of Villanelle against the walls of her pussy. Villanelle grimaces, teeth gritted, like she’s fighting a battle to the death. Eve wonders for the first time if the overwhelming scent in the room really is a cologne or if it’s truly some natural secretion of Villanelle’s. Pheromones. Eve could buy that. 

She stares deep into Villanelle’s eyes. If she looks hard enough, will she see the reflection of the past six months, revealed to her like a vision in a crystal ball? Sure enough, a vision forms, in flashes, in wisps.

Pain.

Villanelle hurt. Is that possible? Is that true? Is that _fair_? Eve is the one who had surgery to remove a bullet and bone shards. Eve is the one who lost her job, her husband, and her home. 

But Villanelle felt it too. Was it her pain, or Eve’s? Did she finally acquire empathy against her will? Did she feel the gunshot pierce her, too?

As if to stop Eve from butting into her memories, Villanelle bucks her hips up suddenly, hitting a new angle and sending Eve over a cliff. No six months ago; that doesn’t exist, only the now, with Villanelle here underneath her, inside of her.

Eve has never been touched like this. She doesn’t think she ever will be again.

Her body trembles. A wave of heat through each extremity, then a wave of fatigue. Eve’s skin is electrified. She doesn’t know how it isn’t crackling with lighting, why her hair doesn’t stand on end. She is supercharged and spent all at once.

Eve climbs over to the side, and slots her body in next to Villanelle’s in the tiny bed. There’s no way for them to not be in contact, but it suits Eve fine. She has accepted that she will be stuck to Villanelle for the rest of her life, most probably. There’s no fighting the magnetic force – at least for now, until some natural disaster comes along to flip them around once more, point their poles in the opposite direction so they repel each other with equal ferocity.

But for now, they are one. Eve gazes at Villanelle’s face. A red mark has blossomed over her eyebrow. A mark of impact. Like a scar, but more temporary. Eve suspects she has one to match, if the dull thudding ache in her forehead is any indication. _Still a wound for a wound,_ Eve thinks, _but not permanent. These will heal. We’re making progress._

Villanelle’s hand against the back of Eve’s neck. Pulling her face closer. Another kiss. Villanelle waited this long, so patiently, for her turn to initiate. Eve knows that Villanelle wanted it before. In the kitchen. On the bed. In the kitchen, again. In the ruins. Shooting Eve – that was alright as a spur of the moment whim. But for this, she waited.

Eve breathes in. She smells power. She gags.

**Author's Note:**

> these two have a strange effect on me  
> but i like it
> 
> come weather the crazy ride of season 3 with me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xoxoxo


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